A quiet man who said too much

Considered, shy and a profound thinker or just facile. Opinions are divided on the Archbishop of Canterbury and never more so since he voiced his thoughts on the incorporation of sharia law into the British judicial system

A couple of years ago, Rowan Williams gave an interview in which he referred to one of the difficulties in being Archbishop of Canterbury. It was the problem of being understood. He was fine with a 'concrete audience' but 'less at ease when there's a vague sense that anyone and everyone is listening and, therefore, I'm not quite sure what's getting through or how or what the response is.'

This distance between his congregation, as it were, and the country has never been wider than it appeared last week. The archbishop's speech on religious and civil law was received at the Royal Courts of Justice with hushed respect. But outside, the response was altogether more animated and angry.

Dr Williams's views were described as 'catastrophic' by former Home Secretary David Blunkett. He was condemned by several Muslim MPs. Trevor Phillips of the Equality and Human Rights Commission suggested that his 'muddled' views gave 'succour to extremists'. Some members of the General Synod called for his resignation. And the Sun, never the most reverential of observers, screamed 'What a burkha' on its front page.

All of this, and more, was in reaction to Dr Williams's argument that Britain should adopt some aspects of sharia law to accommodate Muslim citizens who, he said, 'relate to something other than the British legal system alone'.

The speech itself was characteristically learned, philosophical and tightly nuanced, but there was no getting away from its radical message. Only last year, Ken Livingstone, London's mayor, an outspoken friend of Islamist advocates, claimed that talk of sharia law was 'hypothetical nonsense'. And even some Muslim groups in favour of sharia seemed stunned by the premature development of the debate.

According to Damian Thompson, editor of the Catholic Herald, Dr Williams's stance suggests that the Church of England is now 'more confident of putting the case for sharia law than it is for putting the case for Christianity'. It has been reported that the archbishop was in a 'state of shock' and 'completely overwhelmed' by the animosity, especially from within the church.

It wasn't meant to be like this. When Dr Williams was enthroned as Archbishop of Canterbury in 2003, the general feeling was that the Church of England had found an intelligent, principled and reformist leader. One writer described him as 'gentle, authoritative and highly intelligent', a man who 'seemed to emanate holiness'. He was seen as an outstanding moral example, someone who might rival the Pope or the Dalai Lama on the world stage.

Prior to becoming primate of the Anglican church, Dr Williams had built a reputation as a conscientious liberal, supporting gay rights and female ordination within the church. He founded the Institute for the Study of Christianity and Sexuality in 1996. The following year he was proposed as Bishop of Southwark, but it is said George Carey, his predecessor as Archbishop of Canterbury, withdrew the offer when Dr Williams refused to stop promoting the issue of gay rights.

However, responsibility is the enemy of rebellion and Dr Williams became far more conservative in the highest office. As the issue of gay priests threatened to split the church, Williams made it clear that he wanted unity more than liberty. Things came to a head when he proposed Jeffrey John, who is gay, as Bishop of Reading in 2003, and then, following evangelical protests, asked him to stand down. Since then, he has abandoned any agenda-setting statements that could worsen the schism.

In many respects, Williams, not helped by his preachy beard and imperious eyebrows, has come to resemble the caricature of the C of E vicar: someone who has strong views on everything except God. One of his most acute critics, American liberal bishop John Shelby Spong, has called Dr Williams a 'neo-medievalist' for preaching an orthodoxy to the faithful in which he himself does not believe. To which the archbishop counters that he really does believe in 'the Resurrection and the empty tomb'.

Yet there remains a question mark, in the light of his compromises and controversies, over whether Dr Williams says what he believes or believes what he says. In his defence, he argues that, previously, he was putting forward ideas as part of a 'theological discussion', but now, as head of the church, he is bound to articulate the teachings of the church.

Instead of challenging the status quo within the church, he has focused his attentions outside, at the world or, rather, certain aspects of it. He has been vocal in his criticism of the Iraq war and particularly the role of the United States, which he has accused of wielding its power 'in a way that is worse than Britain during its imperial heyday'. In this much, he has been consistent. In 1985, he was arrested at the US base at Lakenheath while taking part in a CND demonstration.

Dr Williams happened to be lecturing close to the Twin Towers when the 11 September attacks took place. Afterwards, he wrote a book, Writing in the Dust, that reflected on the problems between the West and Islam. He argued that the bombers turned to violence out of a lack of choice and he rejected the notion that they were evil. 'Bombast about evil individuals,' he wrote, 'doesn't help in understanding anything.' Yet he later condemned American policy advisers for their 'criminal, ignorant and potentially murderous folly'.

On the global economy, he can sound like Naomi Klein. 'Every transaction in the developed economies of the West,' he wrote in Writing in the Dust, 'can be interpreted as an act of aggression against the economic losers in the worldwide game.'

Though his ideas are often simple - or, to his critics, facile - his style is dense and ambiguous. As a result, his statements can appear rife with contradictions. For example, he is firmly in favour of faith schools, but does not believe that creationism should be taught. And last year, he wrote to Tony Blair, then Prime Minister, requesting that the church gain exemption from laws on gay adoption, pointing out that 'rights of conscience cannot be made subject to legislation, however well-meaning'. But rights of conscience are made subject to legislation all the time.

Dr Williams would probably welcome such critiques, to which he would doubtless reply with a wealth of theological and philosophical references. For, at heart, he is an academic. Born in Swansea in 1950, he spent the first 20 years of his adult life moving back and forth between various Oxbridge colleges. He studied theology at Christ's College, Cambridge, and was awarded his doctorate at Wadham College, Oxford, in 1981. He was also awarded a doctor of divinity degree by Oxford in 1989.

His wife Jane, whom he married in 1981, is also a writer and lecturer in theology. They have two children and he is known to be a devoted family man. His other great passion, aside from religion, is poetry, which he both writes and translates (he speaks or reads eight languages, including Welsh, Russian, Latin and Greek). In 2004, his collection The Poems of Rowan Williams, was long-listed for the Wales Book of the Year.

His publisher, Robin Baird-Smith, first met Dr Williams in 1972. He recalls a 'monumental intelligence', but also someone who was conspicuously shy. His first book, The Wound of Knowledge, was an adaptation of his PhD, which drew on the work of Russian theologian Vladimir Lossky. His next book returns to the Orthodox church with an exploration of Dostoevsky's Christianity.

Baird-Smith says that Dr Williams remains a man who is more comfortable with highbrow conversation. 'I went to see him at Lambeth Palace last year and he doesn't have a lot of small talk, but as soon as I mentioned Heidegger, he relaxed into conversation.'

Damian Thompson is damning of Dr Williams's intellectual remove: 'He adores speaking above people's heads, which means that he can say he's been misunderstood.' But Paul Handley, editor of the Church Times, thinks that Dr Williams is indeed misunderstood.

'He's a paradox really,' says Handley, 'because he's a populist, or populariser. He likes The Simpsons and popular music. But sometimes, he's difficult to understand because he's talking about difficult things. What he says about sharia law is really complicated.'

This week, Dr Williams has to contend with an unsettled and unhappy meeting of the General Synod. But that's a minor challenge by comparison with the Lambeth Conference later this year. Held once a decade, the conference brings together leading Anglicans from across the world. It is due to feature such colourful characters as the gay-baiting Archbishop of Central Africa, Bernard Malongo, and Gene Robinson, the gay Bishop of New Hampshire.

With that drama to look forward to, perhaps it's understandable that he should seek refuge in the struggles of another religion.

The Williams lowdown

Born 14 June 1950 in Swansea. His family was Welsh-speaking. Williams studied theology at Cambridge and took his doctorate in 1975. He has been married to theology lecturer Jane Williams since 1981; they have two children, Rhiannon and Pip.

Best of times His enthronement on 27 February 2003 as the 104th Archbishop of Canterbury, and the first since the English Reformation to come from outside the Church of England. He had been archbishop of the disestablished Church of Wales and was the first Welsh successor to St Augustine of Canterbury.

Worst of times Right now. There was an earlier backlash following an interview with British Muslim magazine Emel, in November, during which he compared British Muslims to good samaritans and argued that the US has lost the moral high ground since 11 September.

What he says When asked if Britain is a Christian country, he replied: 'If you mean a country where the history, the institutions and the general climate are Christian, I think we are still that.''Even when I was Archbishop of Wales and working with new bishops, I used to say, not realising quite how true it was, "One of the things you will do as a bishop is disappoint people."'

What others say 'He is undoubtedly one of the finest minds of this nation.' Stephen Lowe, the Bishop of Hulme.